I’m lying on the floor
looking up at the TV.
Thirty-nine years later
I’m eleven again. I like
the upside-downness of it,
familiar people talking
out of their foreheads.
That childhood of mine
is back in effect: another Asian war,
another broken country, the flag
suspect again, and people arguing
off the top of their heads,
but this time, it seems,
not a prayer
that I’ll grow up
and out of the fear.
Dark Matter 
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